The Copper Key
by DXM147
Summary: Set immediately after AMBER SPYGLASS, this story revolves around Bvork Coughenour, a physicist at Jordan, and the plot unravels when he encounters a mysterious copper key that dropped out of the sky. Mystery/ Adventure.
1. 1: Unconscience Metaphysics

The Copper Key

The Copper Key

Wast present, and with mighty wings outspread  
Dove-like satst brooding on the vast Abyss  
And mad'st it pregnant: What in me is dark  
Illumin, what is low raise and support;  
That to the highth of this great Argument  
I may assert Eternal Providence,  
And justifie the wayes of God to men.  
-John Milton, Paradise Lost.

**Introduction:**  
She lay back on the planks, feeling the platform move in a very slight, very slow rhythm as the great tree swayed in the sea breeze. Holding the spyglass to her eye, she watched the myriad tiny sparkles drift through the leaves, past the open mouths of the blossoms, through the massive boughs, moving against the wind, in a slow, deliberate current that looked all but conscious.

What had happened three hundred years ago? Was it the cause of the Dust current, or was it the other way around? Or were they both the results of a different cause altogether? Or were they simply not connected at all?

The drift was mesmerizing. How easy it would be to fall into a trance, and let her mind drift away with the floating particles...

Before she knew what she was doing, and because her body was lulled, that was exactly what happened. She suddenly snapped awake to find herself outside her body, and she panicked.

She was a little way above the platform, and a few feet off among the branches. And something had happened to the Dust wind: instead of that slow drift, it was racing like a river in flood. Had it sped up, or was time moving differently for her, now that she was outside her body? Either way she was conscious of the most horrible danger, because the flood was threatening to sweep her loose completely, and it was immense.

She flung out her arms to seize hold of anything solid, but she had no arms. Nothing connected. Now she was almost over that abominable drop, and her body was farther and farther from reach, sleeping so hoggishly below her. She tried to shout and wake herself up: not a sound. The body slumbered on, and the self that observed was being borne away out of the canopy of leaves altogether and into the open sky.

And no matter how she struggled, she could make no headway. The force that carried her out was as smooth and powerful as water pouring over a weir; the particles of Dust were streaming along as if they, too, were pouring over some invisible edge.  
And carrying her away from her body.

She flung a mental lifeline to that physical self, and tried to recall the feeling of being in it: all the sensations that made up being alive. The exact touch of her friend Atal's soft-tipped trunk caressing her neck. The taste of bacon and eggs. The triumphant strain in her muscles as she pulled herself up a rock face. The delicate dancing of her fingers on a computer keyboard. The smell of roasting coffee. The warmth of her bed on a winter night.

And gradually she stopped moving; the lifeline held fast, and she felt the weight and strength of the current pushing against her as she hung there in the sky.

And then a strange thing happened. Little by little (as she reinforced those sense-memories, adding others, tasting an iced margarita in California, sitting under the lemon trees outside a restaurant in Lisbon, scraping the frost off the windshield of her car), she felt the Dust wind easing. The pressure was lessening.

But only on her: all around, above and below, the great flood was streaming as fast as ever. Somehow there was a little patch of stillness around her, where the particles were resisting the flow.

They were conscious! They felt her anxiety and responded to it. And they began to carry her back to her deserted body, and when she was close enough to see it once more, so heavy, so warm, so safe, a silent sob convulsed her heart.

And then she sank back into her body and awoke.  
-The Amber Spyglass, by Philip Pullman

**Chapter 1: Unconscience Metaphysics**

Bvork sighed as he lifted the leatherbound book back to its holding place amidst the other ancient texts in the library. Jordan had a way of doing that to people, making them sleepy at midday. Amidst the architecture and the subdued legacy that enthralled the antechambers and halls, the fellow scholars fumbled about, enveloped in the discussions about the new findings over at Winston Collegiate. That was the only way to wake scholars up: having epiphanies.

Which was so unlike Bvork, who had not had an epiphany in quite some time, going on fifteen years now. In his younger days as an undergraduate, he was researching the effects of the subconscience mind on the conscience one. Vying for the top scholarship awarded anually at London's prestigious Wilford Fund for Research, Bvork had been deeply engrossed in the findings of Theron Pluge, a theoretical metaphysicist. Pluge, some 30 years before, hypothesized that humans could "will" themselves elsewhere, as in a dream or vision, but do it in spirit. His research came up with some interesting results, but he was later hung by the neck for his blashemies against the Church.

Bvork siphoned through the other volumes and glanced at the cover, and quickly replaced it. He thought of abandoning his thesis so many times before, and it was during this drought that he often contemplated switching to theology, which was what the Magisterial officials pleaded with him to become, desperate as they were for leaders.

Ever since Lord Asriel disappeared and the sky opened, the grace that seemed to be with the Church leaders diminished. Slowly they lost branches of their hierarchy, the latest was the Committee for Public Worship not a month before, which was one of the largest and powerful in the world.

The Great Upheaval had slackened. The North was cooling down after its spout with increased temperatures. But still there was the feeling of regret in the air. Like it wasn't over.

_And whatever happened to Asriel, and the Coulter woman, for that matter?_ thought Bvork. Some church officials said they were both sited at Magisterium's bidding on a faraway country, but no one knew where they were now.

Bvork reluctantly decided to pack up his case, and preceded to exit the Library.

That night he had the dream again. He had been having it ever since his epiphany fifteen years ago, but each time he had it, it was more elaborate and ornate with detail.

He was in the clouds, wizzing past vast towers and battlements, narrowly missing the slope of a mountainside that sprang up unexpectedly from the cover of clouds. He relished the flight, he always did. He dipped, and shot towards his usual spot, a small crack in the mountain, where he could get inside. He clambered through the hole, like he always did. And now would come the _new_ part of the dream, if he was still dreaming...

His dæmon, a mountain lynx named Hyruit, softly bit him on his elbow. He awoke, feeling completely relaxed, unable to feel his limbs, save for a small pinch that Hyruit gave him. He tried to fall into the trance again, but the lynx gave him a harder bite, which in turn drove him to push the dæmon off the cot. Hyruit resisted, then they playfully traded swats on each others' bodies.

"Bvork, it was scary that time," she said.

"Scary, don't know a scary thing about it," he replied.

"First of all, you fly up there and that leaves me down on the ground alone."

"Well, you can keep up. Never seen a land animal that could outrun you."

"Anyways, Bvork, I'm usually right in the trance with you, save this time, when I pulled back, and then found myself here. You was still away, you were. To that place we go. _That_ was scary," she took her face and rubbed it under his chin, pulling it up and down his beard as he stroked her fur.

Later that night, Bvork woke. He heard the faint buzz of a zeppelin docking in the courtyard by the college. He sprang from his bed, Hyruit in stride, to the window and peered out.

It was the Master's private yacht of a zeppelin. It landed in the square, touching down ever so lightly, and at once, all the naphtha lights went out from inside and around the zeppelin. Bvork peered through the darkness and saw shapes of men, which looked like a regiment-for-hire that the College would sometimes employ as bodyguards, though that was far and in between.

"I can see the shape of the Master from the causeway," purred Hyruit. "And now he's opening the front entrance of the college."

Bvork could barely make out the Master's shape in the dark abyss, but he could see that the heavy iron gate was opening. "Let's take a closer look, Hyruit," he said. Bvork threw on his casual robe, and sprang for the door, Hyruit in stride. They made a left amid the dormitories, and up to flights of stairs to the attic, where Hyruit jumped to his shoulder, half hanging off, and he stepped out onto the roof from the window.

Bvork could see that the shapes were coming closer, and he strained his eyes to see through the shroud of night. Hyruit mewed when she could distinctively hear the whispers; one advantage to having a lynx as a dæmon.

Hyruit relayed: "The Master is talking with a girl, a young one. He seems to be overjoyed to have her back at the college. He says, 'I hope this hasn't been too much of a hassle for you, this heightened security and whatnot, but we had to make sure you were safe.'"

"Is it the Belacqua child, can it be Lyra?" asked Bvork.

"No doubt in my mind, now that you mention it," said Hyruit.


	2. 2: Folding

The Copper Key

The Copper Key

**Chapter 2: Folding**

Bvork knew he would be unable to even get close to Lyra, to prod her with questions about Asriel or the other things that were driving his mind wild. He woke up the next morning and preceded to go to lecture, where he was to give his speech on the folding of dimensions.

He arrived at Hannah Hall, threw his papers down on the desk. "Ah, welcome, Dr. Lanserius. Glad you could make it to my spiel." He glanced up at the half full auditorium, the junior scholars all huddled in the back as to deflect any questions that might get thrown to the audience.

Bvork drew a single dot on the board. "Everyone hear hopefully knows this is the Zeroth dimension." He drew another dot directly above the first and connected them with a line. "First dimension," he recited. "Interested yet, Hundemer?" he scolded as a young scholar looked mockingly amused. "Second dimension: length and width, no depth. Third dimension: length, width, depth, everyone should know that one. Anyone know the fourth?"

Hyruit lept from her perch on the desk and walked the column between the rows of benches in the hall, her great head passing this way and that, scanning the scholars to see who looked the most nervous. Finally she found one, a boy in his twenties, who was almost shaking.

"Malek, do you want to take crack at it?" asked Bvork.

"It would make sense if it were time, duration, or something like that, where the 3-D particle is transformed in relative space," came his cool reply, tangent to his body language.

"Very good, Malek! The fourth dimension is time, as Malek so excellently put it. Now, the fifth dimension is where it starts to get interesting, and these higher dimensions are what I've devoted my life to understanding.

"Imagine you toss a bit into the air. It can land on either the heads or the tails side, correct? See I'll do it," and he flipped the bit and it landed on tails. "That is one reality of the situation, it is tails. But there is a dimension where this same bit landed on heads. So this means every choice yields different results in different universes. This is the fifth dimension."

"Does that have anything to do with Asriel's worlds?" asked Professor Stollenwerk, who was sitting in the front row.

"Absolutely. Save for the opening to the different worlds was only situation that could have happened. There are other worlds that were identical to this one in every way until up to that point, and then branched off forming a new reality."

"How could we get to the other universes then?" asked Stollenwerk.

"Okay, this is where the sixth dimension comes into play." Some of the students in the back were creeping forward with great subtlety as to not disturb this surprisingly interesting lecture. "It involves time travel through the fourth dimension. Traveling back through time to a point where a decision was made, and choosing to do the opposite than originally decided. For example, you travel back in time and decide to not apply to Jordan College, and that results in you not hearing this lecture." The scholars in the back row looked a little dreamy eyed, and then grinned at each other as if to say We wish...

"So how do these dimensions look? Well, imagine this." He drew a solitary point on the board again. "Zeroth." He drew a line from the point to a different point on the board. "First." He went halfway down the line and drew an adjacent line connecting to a different point on the board. "Second, with both height and width." He went to a different place on the board, and drew another figure, almost like the first figure, but the split was folded over at the top. "The third dimension. See, we fold over the second to get to another dimension. This happens in iterations of three. So you apply the same formula to dimensions four, five, and six. And so on.

"Oh, such a shame, but it looks like my time is up. I'll have to reschedule the remainder of the lecture on some other occasion, where we'll travel to the tenth dimension. Exciting, huh? Thank you for listening." Bvork packed up his things while the young scholars headed out of the lecture hall.

"Professor Coughenour?"

"Please don't call me that _Stollenwerk_, while there's no one formal around," said Bvork.

"Right, Bvork; excellent lecture today. Can't wait to hear the remainder."

"Why thank you Brooks. See you in the Retiring Room then?" asked Bvork.

"The Master wants us in there after dinner, know that."

"Mmkay, see you then." He picked up his remaining papers and walked out with Hyruit, carrying an inkpen in her jaw, as she liked to chew on it after a heartfelt lecture.

The dream happened again. Bvork felt as if he was flying through the air on giant eagle's wings. The cold, crisp air bit his skin, but the thrill of the flight overwhelmed the unpleasantness. He drew closer to the Mountain, shrouded by a sea of clouds. Hyruit was running beneath him, at full speed to keep up with the gust of wind that was carrying Bvork.

Bvork flew to the usual place, the minuscule crack in the side of the mountain, and crept through.

"Come back, Bvork! Don't go through!" cried Hyruit behind him. He was already through; he couldn't go back now.

The crack led to a hallway chiseled out of the rock of the mountain. Other hallways branched off in different directions, but this hallway looked to be the main one. Other people were transversing in the hallway, with eagle wings attached to their backs. Bvork was giddy about this. He followed a group of the winged people through the hall, a great smirk engrossed his face as he strode.

Bvork just happened to look out a window along an adjacent hall, and he stopped where he was. A six legged ship dipped down and landed on the platform on the side of the mountain. He saw a woman step out, along with her daemon, apparently, that looked like a golden monkey. Bvork was puzzled, because she didn't have wings. How odd in a dream world.

Without knowing what he was doing, Bvork paced to where the woman was, but she ran without warning. She and the golden monkey moved on quickly, climbing great staircases, crossing bridges, always moving upward, always Bvork was right after her. He grew weary of the chase, so he grabbed a spear hanging on the wall beside him, ran in front of her to intercept her in an open space.

Bvork inquisited, "Who are you? What is your business?"


	3. 3: The Intention Craft

Chapter 3: The Intention Craft

**Chapter 3: The Intention Craft**

Xaphania took her two hands and laid them on the head edges of the window in the sky. She pinched her two forefingers together, and slid them down the crease, sealing it forever. She shot towards the next one, led by the shadow particles that were slowly filtering in the crevasse, and closed  
the next one.

It was tiring work, to say the least. Of all the windows cut in the 300 years since the creation of the Subtle Knife, this barren world with its stark white moon seemed to have more cuts than any of the other worlds had. And they were only beginning their work.

The angels had to do a sort of reconnaissance in order to make sure that once they closed a window, that they still could escape from the world via others. This process alone would take some years to accomplish, calculating all the different routes that would be taken then closed, and finding other routes that would travel to other routes and so on.

Xaphania flew through the window, pausing a moment to _feel_ that the shadow particles, what Lord Asriel would have called Dust, were not streaming out to other worlds. She sensed that there was a constant yet inconsistent at the same time flow of Dust around the moon-lighted world, and closed the window. Now she was in a different world, and the arctic winds of Svalbard pressed her wings together.

* * *

"You ever hear a more silent night?" asked Bvork to Hyruit. "And it's not the run-of-the-mill silent. It's like the silence when you're in an auditorium and you ask the Impossible Question. Save now I can't even hear the beat of my own heart." He listened more intently. He could hear no creatures of the night, the hawk-owls nor the swallows. There was no rustle of leaves or late marauders wandering the streets. It was utter and complete silence.

"The celestial physicist, oh, what was his name, Markos, remember what he was hypothesizing about the matter reducer? Deep in the reaches of space, where it resides, formed from the death of a great light, and where it gobbles up all matter. Fascinating, eh?"

"Oh, yes, fascinating..." replied Hyruit, half-interested. Bvork knew she was weary from the absence of something to get into, so he stood up and walked to the back gate of Jordan College. He pryed it open, and making sure that his clock still said it wasn't past curfew, he proceeded to the Magisterial seat in Oxford.

It wasn't a long walk, three blocks at best. And the best of all there wasn't any traffic at this time of night. Hyruit pulled the brass door forward with her powerful jaw, to uncover a man was already at the door.

"Ah, Bvork, a little late for a visit, don't you think?" the man asked.

"Perhaps, but I was thinking about you're offer, Fra Uriel. Been thinking about it alot actually."

"Oh, really. And why this sudden change of heart? Now, that the Magisterium is down to no less than four factions, where we once were a powerful eleven, you have decided to join the ranks?"

"Now, don't get too hasty, dear Uriel. I only replied that I was considering the post," pointed out Bvork.

"Alright, friend. Come on in, can I offer you some Tokay?"

"Only if it's not '99," remarked Bvork.

"It's not, but close! Happens to be '98. Impartial?" asked Fra Uriel.

"What a difference a year can make; pour the glass, good sir," he said as he slipped his jacket on a hanger in the office's hall. The two stepped into the sitting room, and Fra Uriel poured the drink.

"We have some interesting news that may catch your attention," said Uriel. "About your line of work."

"Don't try to buy me off, anyways, but what did find? And how could it possibly be related to my field of, dare I say, dimensional analysis?" asked Bvork.

"A machine that was built for Lord Asriel's forces in his efforts to overthrow the Authority. A craft that feeds on the will of the driver."

"A craft to... and whatever happened to that plan! Bloody takes the college's funds and up and runs away with it. I'll have you know I wasn't too keen on that. That money came directly from the Scholarship, that's what we live on, you know. And the next we hear is that Lyra went with him, poor thing. That sort of work ain't the sort for a girl. Visiting other worlds. But thank God she made it back safe."

"What? The Belaqua child returned?" asked Fra Uriel, a sense of anxious puzzlement in the tone of his voice.

Bvork knew he had slipped up, for he knew the Magisterium, for all their insight and wisdom, had a coup with the child. Then something clicked inside Bvork. He didn't know what it was that moment, but a time would come when he would understand the repercussions of what he said next. "Uh, yes, I mean, her body did. It seems that she was stabbed in the abdomen, poor thing, and a witch bore her back across the bridge to the stars. She was a dear thing, she was. A dear thing." Bvork forced a tear.

"Where is the body?" asked Fra Uriel.

"Oh," Bvork was kind of enjoying this storytelling, "the witch said that Lyra requested to be buried in Svalbard, near the Bridge."

"Well, that is a shame. Now to business, Bvork. As you know, the Magisterium is desperate for officers..."

"Yes."

"And you know, we would gladly have you on our side if we could have you..."

"I'm not utterly convinced, dear Uriel," replied Bvork.

"Well, we could give you Asriel's machine, say, for compensation for your unwavering pledge to serve the Magisterium in the years to come. We believe that your research will help the Magisterium regain some of its authority in the world. And you could be well off yourself, Bvork. Very well off."

"Not until I have another epiphany," said Bvork. Hyruit chimed in "Another epiphany."

"Who's to say that this wouldn't bring about another epiphany? This is a very unique machine. Come along, it's stored in the warehouse." The two got up, along with their daemons, Hyruit with her tail vertical and Uriel's Goshen, the pika.

* * *

It looked like some kind of complex drilling apparatus, or the cockpit of a gyropter, or the cabin of a massive crane. It had a glass canopy over a seat with at least a dozen levers and handles banked in front of it. It stood on six legs, each jointed and sprung at a different angle to the body, so that it seemed both energetic and ungainly; and the body itself was a mass of pipe work, cylinders, pistons, coiled cables, switchgear, valves, and gauges. It was hard to tell what was structure and what was not, because it was only lit from behind, and most of it was hidden in gloom.

Bvork stared at the machine, displayed like a tropy in the local warehouse of the Magisterium. "Where did you get such a machine?"

"We picked it up in Geneva, at the College of St. Jerome. It was just sitting on the roof, where the President of the Consistorial Court of Disipline was lodging for the month. The night before it was discoved, Marisa Coulter arrived at the college, but only to betray us, we later found out."

"And I guess she got it from Lord Asriel," said Bvork.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a man appeared behind Fra Uriel. In his hands he held what looked like a piece of clockwork, emblazoned with a light reflecting across its golden surface. He said cooly, "Lyra is alive."

Fra Uriel took the top of Bvork's shirt with both hands and slammed him against the wall. "What was that all about, huh? You knew quite well what we were after. Ask yourself, who's side are you on? What do you believe in?" His voice was steady, but quavered on the word _believe_.

Bvork looked into his friend's eyes. "I believe in good," he paused, and looked to the man in the background, "and I believe in evil."

"Bvork you know we're not evil. These are just evil times." He lifted his hands off Bvork. "Let me introduce Fra Pavel, alethiometist for the Magisterium." Fra Pavel cocked his head in acknowledgment.

Uriel continued. "A terrible thing has happened Bvork. Since that child is back, that means she has succeeded. There is no more Authority. She has damned us all. Repeated the sins of our forefathers."

"I can hardly believe that," replied Bvork. "You can't kill the Authority, so you will not harm that child."

"We don't wish to harm her, just to know what happened. And then you can travel through the dimensions and change it."

Bvork let out a little chuckle. "And what makes you think I can do that?"

Bvork looked back to Fra Pavel, who was holding up the alethiometer.

"And if you don't, Bvork, I personally _will_ kill this child," said Fra Uriel. "So you must choose between good and evil. To save the Authority or for the blood of a child to be spilled on your hands."

Fra Pavel chimed in. "Go talk to the child now; find out what she knows. Then you will use the Craft of Intent to go back and fix this dilemma. Your knowledge of the different dimensions is the only thing that can stop this heretical action from taking place. God speed, Bvork Coughenour."

With that, Fra Uriel showed Bvork to the door. Bvork couldn't get that amazed look off his face. The belief that he was involved in all these years had betrayed him. And he knew they would kill the child any way they could. For the first time in his life, Bvork felt he was truly alone.


	4. 4: Eve

Chapter 4: Eve

Bvork wandered the halls of Jordan College for three weeks after his meeting with Fra Uriel and Fra Pavel. He would see Lyra wondering as well, amidst the grand architecture of Oxford's magnificent structure. More times than not, he noticed that her cheeks were red, which he knew at once to be the residue of tears. What an innocent child had to be so distraught about was befuddling to Bvork, but he twaddled on none the less, tortured by the task that was his burden to bear.

Bvork had the courage to speak to Lyra, just not the courage to choose what path to take. "Oh my word," he said to Hyruit once they were alone. She had her hair on end, and was jumping around excitedly, for she knew what he knew. "An epiphany!" Hyruit exclaimed.

"We've got to see Lyra. She goes to the garden everyday, right about now. If we leave now, we'll catch her." Bvork threw on his jacket, and the two of them exited through the heavy iron gate of Jordan.

They approached the Botanic Garden from the south, entered the gate, and looked around for Lyra and her daemon Pantalaimon. Hyruit purred. The two spotted the other two sitting on the bench and conversing with one another. "Closer, then?" asked Bvork, and both crept within earshot.

"Yes. Of course! And they would have come with us. But..." her daemon Pantalaimon said.

"But then we wouldn't have been able to build it. No one could if they put themselves first. We have to be all those difficult things like cheerful and kind and curious and patient, and we've got to study and think and work hard, all of us, in all our different worlds, and then we'll build..." She stopped. Bvork could hear a nightingale singing, and then the bells chimed in succession, for it was after midnight. He saw that Lyra was deep in thought; she was in some far away place that Bvork wasn't allowed.

"And then what?" said Pantalaimon. "Build what?"

"The Republic of Heaven," said Lyra.

"What are they talking about?" whispered Hyruit.

"I'm not sure. But I don't think now is the time to bother her, or prod her for that matter," replied Bvork. Lyra and Pan seemed to stare out in onto the gardenscape, then Lyra looked to the empty half of the bench, and she and Pan stood to leave.

"Come into the light, my dear child," came a voice in front of Bvork, but still shrouded in darkness. Bvork knew that voice, he heard it just three weeks before, showing him the intention craft.

Hyruit jumped out of the shrubbery ahead of Bvork, and made a soft growl towards the man. Lyra spotted the lynx, and clutched her chest in surprise. Bvork climbed out and said, "Don't worry Lyra, I found it. Oh, evening, Fra Uriel."

The dark figure stepped into the small naphtha light hanging above the bench. "Didn't realize you were here, Mister Coughenour. I was hoping to speak to young Lyra here."

The girl stood up and looked squarely into Fra Uriel's eyes. "I don't want to talk to nobody from the Magisterium. If I had my way you'd all be damned. Every part of me wants to kill every last one of you." Pantalaimon glared at Goshen, but the pika was unresponsive.

"That's quite enough, Lyra, and I think it's about time we all went off to our quarters. I'll escort you back, Lyra. Fra Uriel, everything is under control." Bvork shot Uriel a hard glance, being careful to make sure that Lyra was looking back to the college and not at the two men.

"As you say Bvork," replied Uriel, and the priest slunk back into the gathering dark.

"Come on, Lyra, off to bed with you."

"Who was that man, Professor Coughenour?" Bvork thought that that was the strangest thing. Hearing a boy-like voice coming from a 13-year old girl. He then realized it wasn't Lyra speaking at all, but rather Pantalaimon. He couldn't hold back a chuckle; daemons rarely talked to any human save their own.

"Well, Pantalaimon, obviously you've deduced that he is a brother in the Church, but he was also a dear friend of mine, once. But times have changed, and we have both moved on our own separate paths." The group moved towards the heavy iron gate of Jordan College. "Does Pantalaimon usually do that sort of thing, talk to other humans?"

"Not that I've noticed," said Lyra, "but we're really just getting to know each other again."

"Getting to know each other again, what does that mean?" asked Bvork.

"Oh, nothing, just that.." she paused for a second, calculating, "he's settled and all into this wonderful marten." He lept into her arms, put his face next to hers, and all the while she patted him as if to say, I love you.

"And who's the boy?"

Lyra stopped petting Pan. "What boy? What are you talking about?"

Bvork felt as if he hit a pang a Lyra's heart. "Never mind. Actually, Lyra, I was hoping to meet with you again before you go off into St. Sophia's or wherever the Master said you were going. I want to know about Asriel."

"Well, seeing I don't know what happened to Lord Asriel, and I didn't even see him since Svalbard, I wouldn't be much help."

"But you would Lyra. You would help tremendously. You know what I do? I'm a theoretical physicist. I study all about dimensions and different worlds and how to transverse through to these worlds. I helped Lord Asriel with his research, you know."

The two arrived at the dormitories, and Lyra slipped inside. She called back to Bvork through the doorway, "Alright, Professor Coughenour," and went inside.


	5. 5: Know What It Isn't

Chapter 5: Know What It Isn't

Bvork turned from the student dormatories and preceeded to the Scholars' chambers. At least that's done, he thought.

"And the Magisterium don't trust you as far as they can throw you," said Hyruit.

"Is that a numbers joke? Saying that there isn't enough people in the Magisterium to throw an old man like me?" replied Bvork.

Right there and then, for no particular reason or consequence, a small, but dense object struck Bvork square on the head. He was stunned, and the object clanged on the ground. Bvork then slumped to the ground, banging his head even harder. Hyruit rushed to her human. "Yell, Hy... please..." She saw that Bvork was gushing blood out of the top of his skull.

Hyruit let out a harsh roar, waking everyone within fifty yards of the entrance to the dormatories. The Master of Jordan was the first to respond, he was usually one of the last to retire for an evening, taking a liking to the various liqueurs available in the pantry for cap on the night.

"Bullocks, Professor Coughenour what's happened?" exclaimed the Master as he came strolling down the main entryway down a small flight of stairs. He surprised himself seeing in the dark with his elder eyes and being able to pick up who was lying motionless in the courtyard. Maybe it was the roar...

"Acc...cident... head..." squeaked the words from Bvork's lips.

"Madame Hanover!" called the Master. The nurse was already in stride, and having glanced at the figure on the ground, turned and flew to her quarters, grabbed a few medical supplies and instruments, and threw them on a cart. She was back to Bvork in less than two minutes.

The Master tore off a piece of lower trouser and applied pressure to Bvork's wound. He took a closer look at the failing flesh, peering into the gap that looked like a bullet found its way through his bone. Madame Hanover crouched and dabbed some ointment on the wound.

No later than Bvork felt the coolness of the ointment on his head, he began to drift away into unconscienceness, but not before he saw Hyruit pick up a copper key in her mouth.

"Well, whatever it was, it wasn't fired from a barrel; there's no residue from powder," Madame Hanover explained. "So it must've fell from a staggering height, I suppose."

Bvork was lying on a cot in the nurse's station, surrounded by the nurse, the Master, and Professor Stollenwerk.

"Professor Stollenwerk, since this is your field, what would you say would be the probable height that an object was dropped on Professor Coughenour here?" asked the Master.

"Well, since it was traveling so fast, the force that was applied to Professor Coughenour's skull would have solely replied on the acceleration of the object, the mass would'nt count as much in that calculation, so it would have to be a staggering height, much higher than any zeppelin or airship cruises at," replied Stollenwerk.

"Is everything in order then, Madame Hanover?" inquired the Master.

"Yes, and Bvork will be fine; he just needs his rest. I'll call for you when he comes to." At that the Master and Brooks Stollenwerk exited the infirmary. Madame Hanover drew some clear liquid from a bottle into a shot, and injected Bvork above the elbow, then turned away into her office.

Hyruit nestled Bvork's arm in the middle of the night. He slowly came to, and petted his daemon affectionately. But he fell right back to sleep again.

Bvork had the dream again.

Bvork inquired the woman, "Who are you? What is your business?"

The woman looked at Bvork curiously. Her dark hair framed her young face. "No, no," she said gently, "please don't waste time. Take me to the Regent at once. He's waiting for me."

Bvork did not what to think of this command. But he did as she told him. He led her through flickers of light that glanced off of the mountain and into the hallways. Angels flew by in mid-psalm and gave the odd couple concerned glances. Bvork led the woman for several minutes, not knowing exactly where to go, only delving deeper into the mountain. All the hallways seemed to be going in the same direction however, although they seemed to twist upon themselves in a strange multidimension fashion.

The pair had come to a doorway that swung open when Bvork raised his hand to it. A strong beam of light flew out in all directions upon the opening of the door. The doorway opened up to an antechamber, and sitting at the center was an angel made of light. He was man-shaped, man-sized, and the dark haired woman covered her eyes due to the intense light.


End file.
